


The Illusion of Choice

by Leamas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Childhood Friends, M/M, Pre-Canon, Trauma, it just sucks to be Mike Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leamas/pseuds/Leamas
Summary: Years have passed since Mike last saw Dominic, and finding him here in a bookshop in Chichester is about the last place where Mike thought that he would have a reunion.
Relationships: Mike Crew/Dominic Swain
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	The Illusion of Choice

It surprised him to find Dominic here, but it was just one of those things. At first Mike wasn’t even sure that it was him; he’d last seen Dominic when they were children, before he moved away, and a decade had passed since then. He couldn’t say that he’d ever really given much thought to what Dominic would look like as an adult.

It was the recognition when his gaze fell on Mike’s scars that confirmed it.

Recognition and guilt.

Mike had seen plenty of that look on Dominic’s face. He had never blamed Dominic for what happened to him and told him as much, but Mike had always known that the only reason Dominic stopped apologising for it was because it made Mike uncomfortable to talk about and not because he actually believed it. When he thought that Mike couldn’t see him, then that persistent, heavy guilt would spread across his features, perhaps without him even knowing, and his gaze would trail down to the scars, settling there like a burden.

Mike didn’t know how he felt seeing Dominic here, now, or why something inside him seized, twisting through his gut. Whatever the feeling was, it settled when Dominic finally spoke.

“So this is where you’ve been.”

“You seem surprised.”

Dominic just shrugged. “It suits you.”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that. “Thank you.”

“I won’t be here long,” Dominic said. “I’m just passing through for… well, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Yeah. I’m staying in the hotel around the corner and just thought that I’d kill a few hours walking around.” He sounded hopeful when he looked at Mike and asked, “Do you want to catch a bite to eat?”

That was just about the last thing Mike thought Dominic would say, but he found himself nodding before he could really think about it. He didn’t usually go out. His heart was still hammering, his palms were sweaty; still, he agreed.

“All right.” The sound of his voice felt real enough to momentarily press the feeling that had just washed through him to the side.

“I probably should pick something up first,” Dominic was saying. His fingers ran absently along the spines of the row of shelves that Mike had just scoured through the week before. “Just something for later, when I’m back in the hotel room. The TV reception sucks in there.”

At that moment Mike heard shuffling from one of the back rooms, and a moment later Herbert Knox was there. His gaze caught Mike’s, and for a moment he looked so comically surprised that Mike thought he could have laughed, but he wouldn’t have been able to explain it. He stood ready with his excuses to leave, but ultimately unmoving.

He was, after all, waiting for Dominic.

“This is a surprise,” Knox said, turning his gaze to Dominic. Casually, he said, “You’re a friend of Mike’s?” and Mike wanted to kill him.

“I knew him when we were kids.”

“Ah,” Knox said, as though that meant anything. “I heard voices out here, and wondered who it could be. Was Mike always so quiet?”

It was the kind of innocent question that Mike was used to; something that people dropped casually in a conversation that they hoped would go in a certain direction. Mike was used to being on the receiving end of that, and this wasn’t the first time that Knox had expressed that kind of interest in him. Through years of practice, it was easy to tolerate, as long as he could hold whoever asked at a distance.

But now the question wasn’t directed at Mike, but at Dominic, whose presence alone closed the distance between his present and a past that he had yet to outrun.

“Sure,” Dominic said. “Why? Does that surprise you?”

“Not at all,” Knox said, still as friendly as anything, but when he looked at Mike there was something dreadful on his face, something smug that only Mike could see.

He wanted to run.

Dominic paid for the book and they left without much more fuss. It was only when they were on the street that he got a good look at him. Dominic was taller than Mike by almost a foot, although that wasn’t difficult—doctors thought that the lightning strike had stunted Mike’s growth, which seemed as likely as anything, with his parents both having been average height while Mike was barely over five feet. Other than his height, Dominic really did look like how Mike would have imagined. His scrawny frame had turned to a wiry one; where he’d once been cute, he now looked handsome. Part of a tattoo peeked up from the top of his t-shirt.

So, yes, from Mike’s perspective Dominic still seemed very much the same, just older. And from Dominic’s perspective it wouldn’t matter at all, because Mike was still recognisable.

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Dominic said, his voice softer now against the rush of cars in the street. “Where to now?”

Again, something settled in him. Mike _remembered_ him, and found that he wanted to spend time with him, like he had as a child. He wanted to make Dominic happy. It was ridiculous, and childish, but to a point that was what a lot of Mike’s memories of Dominic were like. Usually Dominic had decided what they did when they played together, _until a point_. After that the responsibility for deciding what to do had fallen to Mike, if only to stop Dominic from looking so guilty every time he eagerly suggested something—forgetting, briefly, what had happened the last time that he’d pushed Mike to do what he wanted.

“That depends on what you want to eat,” Mike said, “and how strong your stomach is.”

“Oh, try me,” Dominic said. “I’ve eaten some real shit.” Then he looked at Mike, hard, as if seeing him for the first time. “And you look like you could eat some more, actually.”

They went to one of the pubs not too far from Mike’s flat that he went to when the silence was too heavy and he found that he couldn’t bear the stillness that stretched ahead of him, waiting to be broken by his tormenter. It didn’t show itself often enough that Mike could get used to it, but he could never relax. He could never forget that it would happen again. Almost inevitably the malice followed when he tried to distract himself, but some nights it was preferable to know that his attempts to comfort himself would be spoiled, rather than wait at the whims of the Lichtenberg creature. Sometimes the wait for the inevitable became unbearable, and so he’d seek it out himself. He always regretted it, but the illusion of choice was too tempting.

Tonight the pub was full with an eclectic mix of students and other locals. Signs for a pub quiz hung in the window, as well as signs for a Christmas charity event that no one had bothered to take down, even as Easter approached and signs for an upcoming raffle were pinned next to it. Mike and Dominic found a seat near the back, in the corner of the pub. After quickly flipping through the menu and confirming that the place served all the usual things that could be found in any other English pub, they chose their meals and Mike went to put the order in at the bar.

“How are you finding university?” Dominic asked when Mike joined him again.

“What makes you think that I’m a student?”

“Why else would you be here?”

Mike shrugged. “Who knows? But I’m sure that there are other things that I can be doing with my life.”

“But you aren’t,” Dominic said, with a certainty that really shocked Mike for a moment. “It doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“You can’t mean to tell me that you’ve thought about what I’m doing.”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

In all the years since Mike last saw Dominic, the thought of what became of him had never crossed his mind at all. He barely considered Dominic, except for when he considered the Lichtenberg figure and the incident that branded it onto him. Was there a reason that he’d been struck that day, while Dominic walked away unharmed? Could it be because Dominic had wanted to stay out for a while yet, but Mike was afraid?

He felt kind of guilty for that. After seeing how impassively he’d greeted the deaths of his parents—more relieved by the possibility that there was _something_ out there with power to set him free than bereaved—Mike had thought that he was beyond feelings like this.

It didn’t bother him that Dominic was doing now rarely crossed his mind, but rather that Dominic clearly had some idea of what Mike was doing, and that he couldn’t be further from the truth. The idea of Mike that had grown in Dominic’s head was something from a long time ago. Dominic remembered the scared, traumatised child-Mike, and so his idea of Mike as an adult was just that but older. He wouldn’t have considered a version of Mike that would kill if it might help him and then live with it easily, nor would he have considered how knowing about the depth of power had changed Mike. How could he? Mike scarcely comprehended it himself, and he was the target of such a force. Its victim. And that made the guilt that Mike felt now seem ridiculous, along with how shaken he’d been by something as ordinary as _coincidence_.

But above all else, he felt ridiculous for being touched that Dominic still thought of him.

“How does it measure up to what you thought?” he asked.

“It suits you. You’re obsessive enough to be an academic.”

“I like the focus,” Mike said, which was close to the truth. He wasn’t even in university, but it was a convenient excuse for what he did with his time and so Mike had no desire to correct anyone. The reason why he was here was that he needed a place to operate from—somewhere that he could centre his search for the Leitner that would save him. At first he’d been reluctant to settle down, afraid that it would limit his options, but the alternative was to search aimlessly in every direction, and Mike couldn’t bear that. His search had an objective; he needed a sense of scope.

Dominic looked at him as though some of Mike’s meaning had filtered through his words, even if he couldn’t say it. Again, the same feeling that had washed over him in the bookstore when he’d first seen Dominic passed through him, like his skin was too tight. The room was too warm. His fingers were playing with the end of his scarf, and he forced himself to keep his hands still.

Food was brought out to the table not long after that. Conversation was easy, meaning that Dominic talked about what it was that he did these days and Mike listened, commenting where appropriate and asking a few questions. It turned out that Dominic was living in London now, doing work as a theatre techie. It was the kind of job that came with enough funny stories to carry a conversation with relatively little hassle. Mike was happy for him. Soon dinner was almost over, and to Mike’s surprise he found that he was enjoying himself. The atmosphere was nice, and the company was pleasant. He liked being with Dominic, and was actually sorry that Dominic would soon be leaving.

That alone was enough to make him tense; his tormenter would never allow him even this.

“Mike?” Dominic asked, and Mike realised that he’d asked something. It was a moment before he remembered how to speak. “Mike, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. You said something, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dominic said. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s fine. I just remembered something.” He tried to collect his thoughts, to _force_ himself to relax, the fact that everything that he’d enjoyed for the last two hours would come crashing down on him made him sick.

Yet he had enjoyed it.

For two hours he’d sat with Dominic and had a pleasant evening.

What if the Lichtenberg figure hadn’t chosen Mike, but had instead spared Dominic? The thought struck Mike quite suddenly, but immediately his thoughts began to unspool. It made sense. Over the years Mike had considered again what it was about him that had led to the Lichtenberg figure choosing him, but what if he had it all wrong? What if nothing about Mike was special, but instead there was something about _Dominic_ that led to him escaping?

“Yeah,” Dominic said with a snort. “You sure look fine.”

Mike was both reluctant and eager to look up at Dominic, and what he saw when he did shocked him. There was a depth in Dominic’s face that Mike had never seen before—or if he had, he’d never noticed. It was more than recognition, more than guilt. Scrawled across Dominic’s face with all of the carelessness of a man who never had part of his soul bared across his skin unwillingly was an understanding that veered dangerously close to pity, and that probably would have landed there, if only Dominic didn’t look so sincere.

Mike had never considered telling anyone what had happened to him before, knowing that such a thing was impossible, but now he wanted to tell Dominic. He had been there, hadn’t he? And in Dominic’s stead gaze Mike now saw something so familiar that it hurt. Did Dominic understand how precious that was? While being toyed with by something that revelled in confusing his senses, it helped to know his surroundings intimately. It was the only defence Mike had in the face of light and the choking smell of rain, to _know_ what was real.

“Dominic,” Mike said, very carefully, “there’s something that I want to show you.”

“What is it?”.

Mike shook his head. “In my flat. Come back with me.”

“No joking, Mike. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mike said. “This is important.” It might be the most important that he ever did in his life.

Dominic must have sensed that. He must have! Slowly, ever tentatively, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll go back to your flat with you, so that you can show me… something.”

They paid and left, then started on their way. It was dark out. Mike hadn’t intended to be bringing anyone home with him, because he never did; he was grateful that the walk wasn’t long. He kept stealing glances towards Dominic, knowing that Dominic noticed but not caring. Dominic must have sensed the significance of this because he didn’t say anything. Mike wasn’t sure exactly what he intended to do, but that didn’t bother him. Usually he was more careful than this. He knew as he reached into his pockets that he was acting on instinct, that he wasn’t acting like himself at all, but maybe that was a good thing.

What, after all, had being careful ever done for him?

Inside his flat was messy, as usual. He tried to keep the place clean, detesting the smell of rot and grime, and not a least bit paranoid of decay in the walls, but most days it was too much effort to bring himself to take the steps necessary to actually look after the place. He didn’t know why that was, but he was at least grateful that it wasn’t as bad as it usually was; he’d cleaned the week before, and the only clutter was just the things that he used on a daily basis.

He took Dominic’s jacket and hung it in the closet in the hallway alongside his own. Very carefully, he unwrapped his scarf and hung it from one of the hooks next to the door, then turned to Dominic and offered him some tea. When he brought it to the living room, Dominic had pulled back the curtains and was looking through the window.

Dominic took the cup from Mike. “You have a really good view.”

“It’s part of why I chose this place.” Mike sat on the sofa, watching Dominic watch the street below.

“It’s not a bad place that you have.” Dominic couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice, and Mike was sorry for that. He knew how this must look for Dominic.

After silently apologising, Mike said softly, “Do you remember what happened to me?”

In the reflection of the window Mike saw a look of hurt flash across Dominic’s face, but Mike ignored it. He just watched silently as Dominic briefly nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I do.”

“I don’t,” he said. “You never asked whether I remembered, but if you wondered, I never did.”

“I didn’t even think to. Did you want me to?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want anything from you?”

“You wanted to show me something.”

“That’s right.” Mike’s heart racing again. He didn’t know how to breach this subject, having never had the chance to do so before. For the whole walk over he’d just been thinking about what it was that he was going to do, the weight of that choice, but not how to actually say it.

“Before I show you,” he said, “I want to know what happened. I think I deserve to know.”

Dominic turned around, looking to his neck as if to remind himself. Did he even realise that he did that? “We were outside, playing in the rain. It had been drizzling all day, and that didn’t really bother us, but when the rain started to get heavier you wanted to go back inside. I convinced you to stay out for a while longer, and finally you agreed, and then…” Dominic trailed off, his gaze slipping further down Mike’s neck, and in the silence Mike realised that he’d begun adjusting his collar.

“Look at me.”

Dominic’s attention snapped back to Mike’s eyes.

“What about after that?” Mike asked. “What happened in the moment that I was struck?”

“Everything went white,” Dominic said. “You screamed. I don’t know how I knew, because it was so bright and loud that I couldn’t hear anything… but I knew that you were screaming. And then you weren’t.”

“I’ve always wondered if I knew that something would happen,” Mike said. “If that’s why I wanted to go back.”

“You were always more careful.”

“Maybe. Maybe that’s why it struck me, and not you. Don’t look so guilty. It was a long time ago—it’s not your fault. It was something else.”

“I don’t think the lightning really cared.”

“You don’t know it like I do.”

“No. I guess I don’t.” Dominic said it with such a pathetic resignation that Mike only felt cold. The only person in the world who remembered the moment that Mike’s life changed forever, and he was reluctant to even acknowledge it.

It must have been this thought that finally pushed Mike to reach for his collar and begin to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged it over his shoulder and folded it, setting it on the sofa next to him, then pulling off his undershirt and folding that, too.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dominic asked as Mike stood. He walked over to Dominic, who took a step back. He must have sensed whatever it was that Mike himself felt, the brilliant energy that accompanied all realisation and power.

Mike was sure that he was right about this. He just had to think about the right way to explain this to Dominic—he’d had years to grow used to this, but not once had he considered the possibility that he’d have to tell someone else.

“You’ve always wanted to see, haven’t you?” Mike asked. “I know that you’re as curious as anyone else. My parents were curious too, you know—they were good to me, but I could see that they wanted to know what about me had changed.”

It occurred to him that Dominic didn’t know that they were dead. He looked up, suddenly nervous, but Dominic just said, “I’m sorry.”

“You heard.”

“I read about it in an obituary.”

“I can’t be surprised about that. But that isn’t what this was about.”

“I worried about you.”

“Why?” Mike asked incredulously. “I’m fine.”

“It’s just… it’s quite a loss, especially like that.”

Mike shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“It was three years ago.”

Again, Mike shrugged. There was still something that he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. Besides, there would be time for that later. He had to be patient.

And still, Dominic was looking at him.

“My point,” Mike said, pressing forward, “is that I know that you’ve wondered about it. I’ve seen you looking. I see you looking at it now. It’s funny—I never talk about this to anyone, and now that I’m trying I’m finding it very difficult.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Mike shrugged. This was far from the first time that he’d considered the unfairness of not having the words that he needed. “You’re the only person that I’ve ever wanted to tell. You don’t know what it’s like to have part of yourself left on display to everyone that looks at me. I can cover myself, so that no one sees how far the scar stretches, but people still do. They don’t know how far it reaches, but they can see it. People look at me and think that they know what happened, if they believe that they’re seeing something so rare. A survivor. They think I’m lucky, to be alive. But you never felt that way. You just felt guilty.”

Dominic shook his head, trying again to take a step back, but Mike took hold of his wrist. A flash of anger shot through Dominic’s face.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I told you.” Mike knew as soon as he said it that he’d get what he wanted. Something in Dominic’s own resolve must have changed.

Dominic was hesitant, like he was afraid to lay a hand on Mike. It didn’t help Mike’s own nerves, which had never left him. That tightness from before was once again there, and it was taking too much effort to keep steady. He wanted to close his eyes, or to brace himself for what he knew was going to happen, reminding himself that he wanted this to happen and trying to believe it, but that was easier said than done. It reminded him too much of the days that he spent waiting for his pursuer to make its next move, which was ridiculous.

It wasn’t the same thing at all.

At last Dominic’s hand fell on his bare shoulder. He was warm to the touch, soft, and when he moved his hand, Mike slowly exhaled.

This was fine. He could do this.

The touch at his neck was so light that Mike may not have felt it at all, if not for the burn that followed. Where Dominic’s skin brushed against the scar, a surge of heat erupted just beneath his skin, like fire. It travelled deeper into his body than where Dominic’s hand could reach and ran the length of his scar, down his neck, down to his back where each branch tapered away to nothing.

Dominic jerked his hand away. “What the hell _was_ that?”

“Do that again.” Mike was shaking. The pain was familiar, one that he recognised but didn’t remember.

“What _are_ you?”

So Dominic understood—something about Mike was _more_. Mike didn’t like the way that he’d asked, but at least he had the right idea. That would have been the hardest part to explain, and this at least saved him the job.

He looked up at Dominic. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

“I felt _something_.”

“That’s close enough.” He still couldn’t believe that he was being allowed this. But that wasn’t right; he wasn’t being _allowed_ anything. Every moment that he had with Dominic that was uninterrupted by the Lichtenberg figure was a moment that he’d stolen from it.

After years of being tormented, could it really be this simple? To just stand in the presence of someone who had been there when the incident had happened? It made sense, in a way; whatever this was enjoyed his fear, and wasn’t it meant to be helpful just to be able to tell someone?

“Do it again,” Mike said.

Before Dominic touched him again, he hesitated, but not for as long. The pain flared through him as before, and the longer that it lasted, the more exhilarating it became.

“You look pale,” Dominic said. “Am I hurting you?” He started to withdraw his hand but Mike gripped him tightly, pressing Dominic’s palm against his neck. He held it there, feeling the pain multiply beneath his skin, thrumming along the length of that scar but never leaving the pattern that had previously been carved out for it.

“Don’t,” Mike said, although just barely.

Dominic’s other hand came to fall on Mike’s shoulder, and for a moment passed where neither of them moved. The pain continued to come in waves, like a ripple, and as Mike tried to catch his breath he realised that the thrum was in time with his own heartbeat. It hurt in a way that felt too familiar to be comfortable—but far from the worst pain that the human body could experience, Mike found that it was possible to withstand it. It wasn’t the same sharp agony that lived at the edge of his nightmares.

And compared to the pain, the touch of Dominic’s other hand on his bare shoulder was gentle. It felt light, like air, even as Dominic pulled Mike closer.

Mike had never been kissed before, had never allowed it, but the longer that it lasted the easier he found that he could just fall into it. He liked the touch, the gentleness of Dominic’s hand at his shoulder in contrast to the pain that was alive inside of him. He closed his eyes, relishing the way that Dominic’s hand moved around his back, how warm his mouth felt.Mike rested his hand on Dominic’s forearm and leaned closer against him, carefully moving his hand up the length Dominic’s arm, until finally Dominic pulled away from him, breathless. Mike opened his eyes, searching for the same open expression that he’d seen in the pub, and then he froze.

He didn’t understand what he was seeing.

Dominic’s eyes were white, aglow with the same bright lightning that had haunted Mike for over a decade now. The light wasn’t consistent, but a rolling, flickering thing, and the deeper that Mike looked into Dominic’s eyes the more clearly he saw their infinite depth, more expansive than anything that Mike could have a chance of comprehending, all expanding outward into a distant singularity that was too far for Mike to actually see.

And in time with his own heartbeat, where his hand lay on Dominic’s shoulder, a mirror of his own scar spread out like a wound, carving its way through Dominic’s body. The white Lichtenberg pattern grew out from where Mike gripped Dominic, spreading beneath his skin. With every beat of Mike’s heart, it flashed its bright white, burning Mike’s hand, but still he couldn’t bring himself to push away. He watched the rate of the flash quicken as his own heartbeat doubled, trebled, and then finally felt the same pain carving through him.

He screamed.

Mike threw Dominic away with a strength that few recognised in him, and then he stumbled back, falling onto the ground. His thoughts were racing, and he was frozen. He wasn’t safe. He wasn't safe. It was in the room with him, in Dominic, if that even was Dominic.

“Mike?” Dominic was saying. “Mike!”

He pushed himself up on one arm, shaking. No—that was ridiculous. Of course it was really Dominic. Tonight Mike had been allowed that much, for a moment, and he’d even been allowed to hope that he was right, and he understood completely now why that was.

How had he been so stupid? After all of this time, he should have known better. There was nothing that he could do to keep his pursuer away, and he knew that. He’d never be safe, but for tonight he’d just allowed himself to forget that.

He couldn’t make himself look at Dominic. And to Dominic’s credit, he didn’t do anything stupid like try to touch Mike.

“It’s fine.” The words, as Mike spoked, sounded as if they came from someplace else. “It’s fine, that was… an overreaction.”

Through all of the new horror there was some part of him, still, that had already processed what had just happened and was simply exhausted. What else could it do to him that it hadn’t already? This was a new kind of cruelty, but it’s torment was hardly a surprise anymore. When the fear ran through him as it did now, as fresh as a new wound, it was so easy to resign himself to it. To want to just give up.

“What’s wrong?”

Mike still couldn’t make himself look at Dominic. The memory of those white, pulsating eyes continued to burrow deeper into Mike’s thoughts, and with each beat of his heart he still saw the lightning burn through Dominic’s skin, and through his own. “Nothing. This was a mistake.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Would you stop saying that!” Mike shouted. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Then what do you call—”

“I said that I wanted you to come home with me.” He wasn’t doing himself any favours by crouching on the ground, with his head bowed. “I wanted to show you something, and I wanted you to touch me. You did. How is it _your_ fault that it was a bad idea?”

“I don’t know, Mike! I’m not helpless here.”

“Some things,” Mike snapped, “are bigger than you are. If you don’t understand that, then consider yourself lucky.”

“But I do understand,” Dominic said— _insisted_. “I think that I know what this is about.”

“Really? Then explain it to me. Because there are a lot of questions that I’ve been asking myself while you couldn’t even make yourself think about it.”

Sometimes Mike wished that he could just blame Dominic for what happened to him. It would be easier than this resentment that felt more like an ache than anything else right now. He had walked away untouched, and he didn’t even realise what it was that he escaped. He might have seen what happened to Mike, but there was still a gap between seeing and knowing, and Dominic stood wholly on the wrong side of it.

Tonight proved that.

And Dominic must have realised that, because he stopped arguing with Mike. For a while, he didn’t say anything at all, and when he did speak, it was just to say, “I guess that I should leave, shouldn’t I?”

He sounded hopeful. And Mike didn’t fault him for wanting to get away.

“That would probably be best.”

“I can help you, if there’s anything that you need.”

“Thank you.” It was the right thing to say. He leaned forward over his knees, only just managing to resist the urge to cover his face. “You can show yourself out?”

“Yeah,” Dominic said. “I’ll go.”

He didn’t move right away. Maybe he was waiting for Mike to look at him, or for Mike to say something else. The longer that he stayed, the deeper the ache was that ran through Mike. Sometimes he truly believed that the anticipation of fear was the worst thing that his pursuer did to him, but if that really was the case then he wouldn’t have a problem raising his head to look at Dominic. But Mike knew that what he’d just seen was worse than the fear that he would see it again, and so his gaze remained fixed upon the floor.


End file.
